


Walk this earth with me

by TinyThoughts



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Rewrite, Cursed Jaskier | Dandelion, Curses, Light Angst, M/M, Mystery, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining, Searching for love, and literally every character I can cram in from canon, but hopefully better, i love show triss, im rewriting the entire show to suit me, needing a nap is a dumb reason for a djinn, there i said it, this is the show basically, triss is the best friend ever
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-18 09:08:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29366025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TinyThoughts/pseuds/TinyThoughts
Summary: At his return, at last, he learns the one he called his mother is dead. Have been dead since the start of the cleansing. The elves he grew up with are all in hiding, dead or hostile towards any humans.He can’t make contact with them, and he is not sure he actually wants to without her. The home he had, the home as he knew it is gone. The childhood memories are all he has left, of friends, of love and trust.So he takes to the road again.OR The show rewritten for an immortal Jaskier. Everything is (almost) the same, but Jaskier can't age, and he doesn't know why.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 26
Kudos: 62





	1. Prolog

**Author's Note:**

> I have been meaning to finish this for ages and ages. I didn't want to start publishing until it's done, but I can't wait anymore, I need the motivation. I like it too much to just leave it in the drafts, so please enjoy.  
> Please gift me with yout thoughts, I need them to keep going <3

Jaskier has many vague memories from his childhood.

He remembers a woman who held him tight. She kissed his cheek and told him she loves him. Her ears were pointy, her hair down to her waist in a warm chestnut colour.

The children he remembers mostly had pointy ears too, unlike himself.   
Their hair, like his though, was braided with colorful silk ribbons. They would dance and play with him under the apple trees.

The woman who called him hers, the one he called mother, taught him music.   
They sang together when baking bread, when working at the spinning wheel and soft lullabies when the sun went down. She cared for him, and held him through childhood fevers and fears.

He remembers strongly the first time she let him play on her lute. How her eyes sparkled when he mastered his first piece.

He remembers growing up with the other children, and how many of them left home to see the world.

When Jaskier finally left for Oxenfurt one day, the one he called his mother cried.

He had never told anybody about his home. When anybody asked, he replied with vague wording and easy changes of topic. The prejudice simmering under the surface, the tense fear and anger that found it’s way out in songs and conversations.

And the day came when it all boiled over.

The big cleansing they called it.

When he talked about traveling there, of home, his teacher scoffed and told him he had no business on the road in these troubled times. No need to put himself out there, to risk falling victim to the evil elven clutches.

And all he could do was clench his teeth and walk away.

Jaskier knows it is too late when he hears scholars talk about it in the halls, about their great victory over the elves. He can’t bring himself to join the celebration.

In his time in Oxenfurt Jaskier realizes a few things.

He knows by now he is not like the humans around him.

The years he spends in their company, their appearance changes in ways his doesn't.

And he knows he is not an elf, or he too would have been affected by the cleansing.

Jaskier simply does not seem to age.   
It is rather unsettling.

He studies poetry, history and music. Fencing, art and language. Really, anything he can get his hands on.   
He loves learning, but there is something missing. It takes years until he finally gets enough.

He plans to find out what happened to his home, with no intention of returning to Oxenfurt.

His travels back home are in itself an adventure.

Jaskier calls himself Julian, as he did in Oxenfurt. 

Julian is the name for strangers, Jaskier is the name given to him by loved ones and will only ever be used by loved ones. Julian plays and sings his way through taverns, summer festivals and celebrations. Just enough to get passage or a meal for the night.

He is rarely alone, men and women alike are charmed by his voice and his witts.

They share small romances and affections. But nothing feels real, nothing feels enough.

At his return, at last, he learns the one he called his mother is dead.

Have been dead since the start of the cleansing. The elves he grew up with are all in hiding, dead or hostile towards any humans.

He can’t make contact with them, and he is not sure he actually wants to without her.

The home he had, the home as he knew it is gone. The childhood memories are all he has left, of friends, of love and trust.

So he takes to the road again.

He mourns the one he called mother deeply.

Her smiles, her warm embrace, her rich voice, her tender “ _I love you”_ whispered into his hair. All he has left of her is the nickname she left him. Jaskier.   
And he treasures it always.

Jaskier knows now for certain he is not an elf.

He lacks their high cheekbones and pointy ears. His features are soft, humanlike.

Who is he, what is he, if he is neither? It is frightening. In close to 65 years on this earth, he spent at least 35 of them looking like a teenager.

Triss, a human sorceress with a kind smile, is his first true friend.

They meet soon after her graduation from Aretuza, and she is intrigued.

Triss found him softly singing a lullaby from his childhood. Jaskier thought he was alone, plucking the strings and hearing the inhales of the one he called his mother between the words. The lullaby is very old, and it is his secret from the world. His gift to himself.

Triss approached him and befriended him. And with time they came to trust each other.

She can sense magic on him but not what.

Something keeping him young when others age. Every time they meet she performs different rituals trying to discern what is going on.

But one day there is a change in Jaskiers appearance, the first one since the cleansing.   
It is a small change, but for someone used to looking like a teenager it is huge. His baby fat retreats slightly, his face slowly becoming more defined.

It happens during the time Jaskier feels love for the first time in years.

He falls in love, deeply. She loves him back, or at least for a while. She is a human girl who has taken up residence in what they now call the Valley of flowers.

They spent close to a year together.

He doesn’t remember her name anymore, but she held him tight and told him she loved him. She probably did too, but with the whims of youth her love transferred to another.

Jakier can’t blame her for it. But he misses her.

Triss is beside herself when he next meets her. She asks about every detail, when he first noticed, what he ate, who were close to him.

Of course she offers what she can to help him recover from his broken heart, but she is so fascinated with his small changes.

When Triss and Jaskier part, she is so full of ideas.   
She swears she will search the libraries of Aretusa for clues to match, to find out what is going on.

A big hug, a tight squeeze and a comforting smile and she is off.

As he travel the world that surrounds him there is a familiar face every now and then.

Old friends from Oxenfurt, sometimes with their children and grandchildren. Jaskier can read every year that passed on their bodies. The lines in their faces.

Jaskier is almost the same youth he was back then.

Almost.

He dares not approach them, he fears what they might say and do if they see him unchanged.

Time was never relevant before. The concept of ageing never struck him growing up, as his age seemed to follow the children around him.

He has come to accept that he is different now. Different from everybody, even Triss.

So while traveling Jaskier never stays long. Never long enough to see families grow without him, to go on.

Never long enough to be rejected.

It is a necessity, he tells himself. Jaskier falls in love easily, but he never stays. He tries so hard to distance himself from it all.

Not to stay for too long, to form bonds, not stick to one person who might notice.

It all changes when Jaskier visits Posada.


	2. The elven lute

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Im so excited for this to see the light of day! I hope you like it!

Posada is a small place.

The people here are grumpy, hard to entertain. The same as most places, frankly.

To begin with, Jaskier had no intentions to return to Oxenfurt. But he realized it has been close to 50 years since he was there last. He did miss it. His old professors were long gone, and what he studied all those years ago is not even close to the same. He dived back into it eagerly, and thrived. Humans are the same as always, alive with passions and desires.

What ended his time there was the second love of his life.   
At least from his side. The young man was named Valdo Marx, they found each other late summer nights while writing lyrics and poetry. Jaskier couldn’t help himself. He loved him. Had believed Valdo loved him back. But name one thing that lasts.

So he once again left Oxenfurt when things got sour.

And arrived at Posada, closer to home than he has been for a long, long time.

Jaskier has heard of witchers before. And this specific one, actually. The butcher of Blaviken.

He is sure the story has more to tell than a simple butchery. There was a mage involved after all, and he always found it hard to trust them. Triss sometimes told him stories about mages, what they could and would do, many of them chilled him to the bone.

So he couldn’t help himself.

He approached Geralt of Rivia after a, at best, mediocre performance. His own introduction was even worse.

_“You wouldn’t want a man with ...bread in his pants waiting.”_

Honestly. Not his smoothest move. Frankly embarrassing.

But this brooding man is something else. He is not human, and doesn’t try to be. He is not kind but certainly not cruel when Jaskier just can’t stop spouting nonsense. It’s refreshing.

So when the witcher gets a contract, he decides to tag along. Also he has never seen, nor heard of actual devils and would love to know if they are real.

And Jaskier can read his own signs. He can feel a smaller obsession forming.

It all goes downhill when he follows Geralt on his mission. It is not a devil but a Sylvan.   
And what’s more, they are captured and taken to elves.

Well, fuck.

Bound back to back, Jaskier can only stare in horror as the elves pick up his precious lute with a mean glint in their eyes.

They don’t recognize him then.

And when the woman kicking Geralt insults them in elven, Jaskier slips. He swears right back, also in elven.

He can feel Geralt turn his head in surprise behind him.

“Humans! Shut! Up!” She snarls at them.

The lute cries in the background as a male elf starts breaking it apart.

“Oh please no, not the lute!” He can hear the smooth wood splinter, the strings snapping, his heart breaking.

It is only a lute, but a very handsome girl he once was very fond of had gifted it to him.

The female elf gives Jaskier leg a hard kick and he winces in pain.

“Leave off!” Geralt snarls. “He is only a bard.”

It warms Jaskier a little. And when she leans in to retort, Geralt headbutts her. Right in the nose. Jaskier cringes, but she well and truly deserves it.

That is when Filavandrel and the Sylvan appear.

It is an interesting feeling exploding in Jaskiers chest. A piece of home is alive. Heavy with loss and light with relief at the same time. After all these years, how Jaskier missed him. Jaskier hears them talk silently and the woman nods towards them.

“No one was supposed to get hurt.” They can hear the Sylvan say to the woman.

“What are two humans in the ground when countless elves have died.”

“One human.” Geralt interjects. “And you can let him go.”

And. Wow. That’s a kindness he didn’t expect.

Filavandrel notices him then. Eyes that widen in silent recognition and Jaskiers mind is racing. This could turn slightly problematic. Jaskier subtly shakes his head, pleading him not to say anything.

And then Filavandrel and Geralt have the most moving conversation about humanity Jaskier has ever heard. He learns of the cruelty of man, and why he did not find them during all these years. The witcher has more compassion than many humans Jaskier ever met and somehow, Filavandrel decides to let them go.

The elven woman is spitting mad about it and leaves with an angry huff. When the sylvan gives back Geralt his things, the elven king pulls the bard to the side.

“How are you here?! How are you still-” FIlavandrel hisses quietly at him, but Jaksier interrupts.

“-I had no idea his contract would lead here.” says Jaskier with a pointed nod. There is much he wants to ask Filavandrel, desperately so, but not in this crowd.   
They study each other for a moment, weighing up what they can say.

“You became a bard?” says Filavandrel finally and motions to the destroyed instrument.

“I did. For her.” They both know of whom they speak. The one Jaskier called mother. ”Though I think I need to buy a new lute.”

He looks at the pieces on the ground. The elf doesn’t say anything for a long moment.

“Stay here.” He says then. As if Jaskier has a choice. There is a slightly awkward silence in the cave. While Geralt straps his gear on again and Sylvan's odd big eyes studies him. Jaskier doesn’t like the way he is looking at him.

When Filavandrel returns, he is holding a lute. A very, very familiar lute. His old wound starts to ache, the one in his heart.

The mourning, the longing for what was.

The elf slowly offers it to him.

“It was hers.” He says quietly. “I kept it… when…”

Jaskier is not the only one mourning. The one he called mother loved all children, and they loved her. Jaskier was the only one she called her own, despite clearly not being his true mother. But they all loved her dearly.

Jaskiers throat goes tight at the sight of it. He miss her so much it’s close to physical pain. He can barely take his eyes off the lute.

“Are you sure?” He hears himself asking, voice thick with emotion.

“I'm sure. She would have wanted it.”

They are acutely aware of the witcher behind them. Jaskiers eyes drift there once, but he is not looking.

He grabs Filavandrel’s wrist, tightly, when accepting the lute.

“Thank you.” Is all he can say. It is not enough, it will never be enough. He kept that lute safe for all these years. Jaskier can only hope the elf understands just how grateful he is.

When they are leaving the caves the Sylvan follows them. Geralt fetches his mare, Roach he thinks she is called, nearby. She is tied where they were taken.

As soon as he is out of sight, the Sylvan turns to Jaskier.

“What are you?” The Sylvan asks.

“Uh… Human? As far as I know?”

“And yet, you are not.”

Jaskier blinks. How does he know? Why?

“I don’t know what it is.” He admits.

“You are cursed.” The Sylvan states.

“I am?” Jaskier did not expect that. His heart starts to race. Will there finally be answers?

“Yes. I can see it. It is old elven magic.”

“What does it do?” Jaskier breathes.

“Bard?” Geralt's approach abruptly cuts off their conversation. Fear and sadness churns in Jaskiers veins. “We need to leave.”

He swallows thickly. The sylvan studies his face.

“It is not always meant as cruelty.” It says, it’s goat ears twitching. “Remember that, child.”

“I will try.” Jaskier says, and walks towards the witcher.

Mentally he is composing a letter to Triss. Maybe she can find something with this new information.

The song he writes about this encounter is not very fair. But it is the only way to protect the elves living here. Call them defeated, let them rebuild in peace. If he can grant one small mercy with his voice, may it be that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Im still working on the story so all kinds of encouragement would make my life so much better <3


	3. The law of surprise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter I have prepared so far, Im still working on the next one (Im still so mad about needing a djinn because of a friggin nap) and it's giving me trouble, but please enjoy this in the meanwhile <3  
> Canon, go home, you are drunk.

The revelation of a curse lies heavy on him.

If his calculations are correct, he has been alive for at least 80 years. Is the curse why he is here, after all this time?

He tries to go back to the valley, but the elves are nowhere to be seen. He had hoped to find a way to talk to them, to get answers, but he is all alone under the stars.

He has decides that distraction might be the solution, he is in no hurry anyway. A handsome witcher, scary monsters and a thousand taverns should do it. So naturally Jaskier spends almost all his time by Geralt's side after their meeting. He doesn’t give Geralt much of a choice about it.

At every town and village they arrive, Jaskier sings. The lute lends him strength, it heals him a little remembering the one he called mother.

After a while people start to recognize him. It was never his intention to make a name of himself. He basks in it, to be known, even though he realizes it might not be a great idea. For some reason his song about his newfound witcher is a smash hit in the taverns.

His intentions were protection yes, and seeing how the Butcher was received up to this, he is glad to make a difference, even if it's a small one. They don’t drive him off when he sets foot in villages or towns anymore. They recieve more contracts and actually get paid just a little better.

So Jaskier makes sure to sing about his competence and how he is “ _a friend of humanity_ ” everywhere they go.

Geralt despises the song.

“That’s not how it happened.” He interrupts the first time he hears it. ”What happened to your newfound respect?”

“I'm aiming for something a bit different. If the farmers think them defeated, maybe they will leave them alone? And with you as their saviour, why not hit two birds with one stone and make you look a little better. Because honestly, you have an image problem, my dear witcher.”

“Bard.” Geralt warns between clenched teeth.

“Witcher.” he counters. “ And it’s Jaskier. Call me Jaskier. What does it really hurt?” He refuses to be Julian with Geralt.

It truly looks like it hurts Geralt physically every time Jaskier plays it in taverns. It is Posada all over again, hiding in a corner in a full brood mood. But the patrons love it, and the song spreads over the continent.

Jaskiers name becomes known, and his witcher even more so.

They don’t talk much about their traveling arrangements. The years pass in a blur. Jaskier more or less stalks Geralt, intrigued by his kindness, hidden by a grumpy wall of muscles.

Geralt loves his horse more than many would love their own child. When it becomes clear that he is paid with someones very last coins he declines payment. When Jaskier is annoying, and honestly, that is most of the time, he either banters right back or just ignores him.

Every now and then their roads part. Because Jaskier gets invited to play with the big boys now, something he up til this point avoided. But he can’t resist. He _loves_ music, he _loves_ to move his audience to either laughter or tears. To make them ache with loneliness, to rage with want (a personal favorite) or dance to their heart's content.

After all these years on the earth, this part never gets old.

And as per usual, he is not that picky on who he brings to bed. He rarely asks if they are taken, because that is their bloody responsibility too, isn’t it? No one is ever forced to join him in his search, his cure for loneliness.

That leads to rather tense situations every now and then. When a spouse, a disapproving parent or a beloved finds them in a compromising position, he is the one getting the blame. Most of the time he gets away, but more than once they came looking for revenge.

~

It has been almost ten years since he and his witcher met. Even if Geralt denies it, Jaskier calls him his friend.

Even if he does not admit it verbally, he can’t deny his actions.

He never chases the bard away, always shares his food without a thought and if it’s cold, his blankets. If Jaskier is lucky, they sometimes even share body heat.

It is rare, and it always makes something flutter in his chest.

Somehow, when they wake up, their legs are tangled and Geralt's chin is resting against Jaskiers head.

They never talk about it, pretends it never happened. But it is one of the few times he feels completely safe.

On one of those days traveling together Jaskier receives one incredible invitation.

He is asked to play at the betrothal feast of the princess Pavetta of Cintra.

And that is _huge_. He can’t possibly decline!

There is just one tiny detail to fix.

“And then.. He died..” The witness to the fight finished with a dramatic sigh.

“Mjeeh. He’s fine.” Jaskier says confidently, writing down the last detail the man so kindly shared. Geralt is so bad with words it almost hurts.

The man begins to protest, and that is when Geralt chooses to return, absolutely drenched in selkiemore guts. It smells something terrible, if he took a bath this _second_ it would be too late.

When the man looks less than eager to pay, Jaskier makes the entire tavern sing.

Geralt looks like he would rather crawl right back into that selkimore than stay here another minute.

It amuses Jaskier to no ends, he walks up to his friend and - almost- touches his shoulder. When he sees how sticky it looks, he thinks better of it.

“You’re welcome.” Jaskier smiles as he swaggers after Geralt to the counter of the inn. “And now, I would like to obtain one small, teeny tiny favour in return.”

“No.”

“Yes, dear witcher.” Geralt always glares at him when he uses endearments. It’s hilarious. He will never stop.

“Fuck off, bard.” His voice is gravely, Jakier can only imagine how much of that gut he breathed in. Or swallowed. Gods that’s nasty.

“For one measly night of service you will gain a cornucopia of earthly delights…” Jaskier rambles away, dead set on making his witcher join him.

His witcher, however, does not care.

At all.

Jaskier keeps talking but he turns his back and walks up to their rooms.

Now, this is the part where Jaskier usually gives Geralt some space, but tonight he cannot afford it. He runs after, and more or less gatecrash Geralt in his alonetime. He tosses him into a bath and poured one entire bucket of water over his head.

“Now now, stop your borish grunts of protest. It’s one night of bodyguarding your very best friend in the whole wide world. How hard could it be?”

“I'm not your friend.”

“Oh, oh really, you usually just let strangers rub chamomile onto your lovely bottom?”

Yes that happened. Jaskier will never let him live it down.

The water sloshes against the wooden tub when Geralt twists around to glare at him as Jaskier moves about the room.

“Yeah, well yeah, that’s what I thought.” Jaskier rummages around in the bathing area, sniffing the soap before handing it to Geralt. It at least smells better than that bathwater right now. It’ll do.

“How many of the lords want to kill you?”

“Hard to say. One stops keeping count after a while.” There is no need to fill in just how long that while is.

He takes a breath before he continues. He is kind of nervous about this part.

“Geralt, I'm going to be honest with you.” There is a twisting feeling behind Jaskiers ribs. It is not nice at all. He sits down on the little footstool next to the bath. “There is another reason I want you there tonight.”

As per usual, Geralt of the many words asks why not with his mouth, but with his eyes. Mostly eyebrows actually.

Well. Here we go. He takes another deep breath before speaking.

“Someone I once held very close to my heart will be there. We broke up just before I met you. He umm… hurt me. And I could really use a friend.”

Worry is churning in his body. Jaskier really wants to go, but he really doesn't want to go there alone. He can’t look at Geralt, so he looks down at his hands.

The seconds tick by.

Geralt does not repeat that ‘we are not friends’ nonsense, and Jaskier is grateful for it. He feels laid bare. There are very few he can actually talk to about real things, when he comes to think of it. Few, as in Triss, mostly.

“I’ll be your bodyguard.” Geralt rumbles, avoiding to admit to any kind of friendship.

A big smile breaks free on Jaskiers lips anyway and he looks up at the witcher.

“Really?”

“Yes. But I need to know. How did he hurt you?”

Ooh, actual friend talk! Geralt goes all in! Too bad that it still hurts to talk about, ten years later.

“Oh, it was really long ago.” Jaskier tries to make it sound casual, trying to take the edge of his hurt. “We were together when we studied back in Oxenfurt. He told me he loved me.”

The smile turns wistful.

“Then he published all our joint works in his own name. Claimed I tried to steal from him. So I left, before they could try and expel me.”

A stormy expression passes over the witchers face. It’s sweet that he pretends he doesn’t care when he so clearly does. And this time about _him_.

“Did you have someone like that?” Curiosity killed the cat, as they say, but Jaskier can’t help himself. If they are doing friendtalks anyway, why not fish a little?

“Witchers walk the path alone.”

Oh come on.

“Really? Not one? Aren’t you like 90 years old?” Geralt glares at him. “You don’t want anyone in your life? Ever?”

“I want nothing.” Of course he doesn’t.

“Well. Who knows? Maybe someone out there will want you.”

“I need no one. And the last thing I want is someone needing me.” Jaskier smiles at his witcher, his friend.

“And yet… here we are.”

Geralt's hair is a mess. After scrubbing for almost half an hour Jaskier steps in and saves the day.

While Geralt scrubs the rest of himself twice, Jaskier untangles every strand of hair and makes sure it's soft and silky. It takes a while for Geralt to realize his clothes are gone. But it took no time at all for Jaskier to realize he will never let the witcher be alone in the bath again if he can help it.

Because you have to treat yourself every now and again. And Geralt in the bath is such a treat.

~~~

The first sign of the evening going to shit is when a big man approaches him. Big, as in wide.

Geralt apparently found a familiar face and disappeared off somewhere, and that’s when he strikes. The man grabs Jaskiers arm and drags him to the side, demanding to see his arse.

Which in itself is a weird request, but not all that uncommon if he thinks about it.

But it is said without the usual tone for it to end in a friendly encounter. Somewhere here is when Geralt finally notices his need for assistance. The man has attempted three times already to pull at his breeches when he appears.

After being wrongly accused of first sleeping with the man's wife and then having a pimply arse in the same breath, Jaskier is hoping Geralt will merely drag the wide man away and just… he doesn't know what, but avenge his horribly insulted arse somehow?

But Geralt is a true believer in peace and friendship.

And thus spreads the tale of Jaskier being kicked in the balls and now is doomed to walk the earth a eunuch.

A terrible fate, they agree upon, and Jaskier is left alone with his arse still safely covered, ego bruised and a reputation that is sure to reach Valdos ears.

Perfect.

“Thanks ever so, my dear witcher.” He mutters. “Good of you to save me.”

“That at least should keep the other nobles off your back. And arse.” says Geralt, the evil man he is, and smiles mockingly.

“At least we know it wasn’t me who slept with that man's wife. I don’t have a pimply arse.” He feels the need to mutter. Defending his sweet behind. He is pouting he knows, but he feels like he earned the right to.

The second sign that the evening is going to shit is when Geralt interrupts a rather loud conversation about monsters, and somehow the subject steers to their encounter with Filavandrel and the devil. It chills Jaskier to hear the entire room wanting all elves dead.

He tries not to shrink where he stands, not to take any room.

And Geralt, the nobel idiot, defends the elves. Not a way to gain favour in this setting.

The third sign is when the Queen of Cintra herself enters the room.

She is clad in armor and stained with blood. The queen takes one look at the witcher and somehow, despite or thanks to his rudeness and unpopular opinion, is invited to sit with her. And they are once again parted. Geralt gets seated on the honor table on the Queen's right.

And as if that wasn’t enough, when asked to start the performance, Jaskier is abruptly cut off, when the Queen would much rather hear a jig and is told:

“You can save your bloody maudlin nonsense for my funeral.”

Cue more pouting, but on the inside. Jaskier is a professional after all.

From where he stands he can hear snippets of conversation from the Queen's table. It warms his very soul when he can hear Geralt and her talking.

“I'm helping the idiot free of his coin.” Geralt rumbles. Jaskier assumes he is the idiot, and would like to imagine it sounds fond.

“And he’s the idiot?” The queen scoffs.

He hear them mock the royalties around them a little every now and then, when their music isn’t drowning them out. Or the loud roaring of the guests laughing.

He finishes his set with a popular tavern favorite and has most of the guests roaring it with him. A deep bow later and he releases their attention to the evening's next entertainer.

And that is when the evening's first dose of shitstorm walks up to him.

Valdo fucking Marx himself. Valdo swaggers up to him, all fake smiles and swinging hips. How the fuck did he make Jaskier think he is attractive? Think they were in love? He can feel the smile he is wearing threatens to flee. It’s been ten years. Ten long years he managed to stay away from him.

He knew he would be here. He knew it, and thought he was prepared.

“The years have been kind to you, my darling Julian!” Valdo exclaims when he is close enough to pat his shoulders.

Jaskiers shoulder tense, he is using every facial muscle he owns to keep that smile in place.

“Valdo Marx. It’s been some time.” Jaskier manages to get out. Almost sounding pleasant.

“It truly has been! Ten long years! And you don’t look a day older than twenty!” Valdos smile is wide, he has a new mustasch ornating his lip. It makes him look ridiculous. Seriously, what made him love this man?

No. Now is _NOT_ the time to reflect on that. It might lead him to some very dark places. And speaking of.

“It’s nice that you finally got invited to play at a real happening, my love.” This is the worst man Jaskier ever met. “But now it’s time to show these nobles how to enjoy themselves. Look closely darling, I hope you can learn something.”

Jaskier feels the anger prickling, but his smile is fixed. Professional and all that.

Valdo pats his arm one last time, and walks past him and up to the performing area.

Fuck this and fuck his pompeus arse.

Jaskier moves to the back of the room, he won’t give this peacock the satisfaction of him fleeing. Even if it means he has to endure Valdo’s nasally voice. Jaskier puts away his lute safely and secures himself a glass of wine when Valdo starts his performance.

It is not too bad to begin with. The melodies are nice, upbeat and one can almost ignore how Valdo sings if you focus on the words. Jaskier wonders if he actually wrote them himself this time.

He really wishes Geralt was here right now.

Really, it _is_ a good thing for both of them to be here, he tells himself. Jaskier gets paid nicely and Geralt might get another high profile contract or something.

But Jaskier regrets his decision right about now.

Valdos eyes find his, and the bastard smirks. The next song he starts, Jaskier knows very bloody well.

They wrote it together after all.

There is a stab in his heart. He can’t do this. This fucking sucks. Jaskier turns away. He is not sure where he’s going but he can’t listen to this.

It’s a fucking lovesong. About sharing, caring and growing old together.

What a joke.

He finds a door that leads to a terrace and steps out into the night air. Three deep breaths later and he is sure he’s not going to cry. He is done crying, it’s been ten years.

But that fucking song, it was a very deliberate move from Valdo.

Asshole.

The door behind him opens, letting out the sound of singing and laughing, before it gets muffled again.

Steps behind him. Jaskier is alone out here, maybe that was a bad move.

There might still be more weird nobles trying to see his arse or something.

“Are you alright?” Geralt’s voice asks from behind him. Jaskier releases a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

“Yeah I'm just… You know. That’s the guy I was talking about.”

“What, the other bard with the nasal voice?” Jaskier smiles up at the night sky.

“That’s the one.”

"You have bad taste.” Geralt remarks and Jaskier can’t disagree.

Geralt walks up to the railing next to Jaskier. They stand in companionable silence for a moment. Jaskier can see the stars peek through the clouds up above. The leaves are rustling in the soft wind. Slowly the tension between his shoulder blades bleeds away.

“He played our song. The one we wrote when we were together and it was just… a tad bit much.” Jaskier admits after a while.

“What a dick.” Geralt growls.

“I absolutely agree with you there. Thank you for being here Geralt. It’s nice to know I'm not alone.”

Geralt just grunts. Jaskier sneaks a peak at him then, from the corner of his eye.

A small flutter starts in his chest. It really is nice to have someone by your side.

Maybe he actually can find someone who can love him. Maybe there is actually hope. Maybe he doesn’t have to be alone forever…

The shitstorm starts to show its real face at midnight.

Or rather, it sends them a knight who will not reveal his. It starts to blow when his very much not human face is revealed. When princess Pavetta protects her love from her mother's fury, the wind is literally picking them up. Her winds, her powers, tossing them about the room. And when they think it all is over. Geralt himself claims the law of surprise.

And a child becomes his destiny.

**Author's Note:**

> Come yell with me on tumblr!  
> Im Dapandapod! <3


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